Galadhrim Greetings
by TheGreenScholar
Summary: Written as a contest prize. The Fellowship of the Ring's entrance into Lothlorien, told from the perspective of a Galadrim OC named Aranethon. Features Haldir, Rumil and Orophin, with a little bit of 'friendly' insults from Gimli on the side!


**This story is contest prize in response to the 'Who Goes There?' contest on the Facebook fanpage for Lindir from the Hobbit. Congratulations to the winner and his Tolkiverse character Aranethon!**

The leaves of Lorien cast a golden glow across the forest floor that autumn day as the sun shone through them. It wasn't for naught that Lothlórien was widely known as 'The Golden Wood'. The face of Lorien in the daylight was but one side of a coin though; come nightfall the titanic trees known as _mallorn _would shine with a silver radiance to rival that of the moon. Caras Galadhon was Lorien's capital, and it was from there that the Galadhrim departed each morning and evening to keep watch over the borders.

As diverse as leaves in the forest, the Galadhrim warriors were of Noldorin, Sindarin and Silvan decent alike. Led by their Marchwarden Haldir as well as his brothers Rúmil and Orophin, the elves guarded their homeland with a wary eye from their lofty tree-platforms or_ flets_.

It was upon one such flet that Aranethon, a tall and silvery-haired Galadrim warrior stood as the sun tracked above the forest canopy overhead. The season was moving into autumn, and soon the leaves would fall from the mallorns in a shower of gold. Cocking his head to listen to the sighing of the wind as it passed among the boughs and made them rustle, Aranethon smiled silently to himself.

The world beyond had been growing steadily darker and more chaotic in recent years, although only very few could actually see the concern upon the Lady Galadriel's fair face. Tidings had reached them in Caras Galadhon of the movements of the enemy, and of a council presided over by Lord Elrond of Rivendell. The Galadhrim kept the paths of Lorien clear of orcs and goblins with near-perfect efficiency though, and for the most part the troubles of Middle-Earth had yet to reach them here. The power of the elven ring Nenya that their Lady wielded went far in assuring peace for their people. Lothlórien remained a rare haven of peace and safety amidst the growing troubles of the world.

When Haldir climbed the rope ladder through the trap door of the flet, Aranethon greeted his Marchwarden with a salute. Haldir was the eldest of the three brothers, with Rúmil and Orophin rarely ever being seen apart. Aranethon had always looked up to Haldir, and even now that he had earned his place among the Galadhrim he still retained a measure of the awe that he had known as an elfling around the Marchwarden.

Haldir moved to stand beside Aranethon at the edge of the flet, the two elves gazing out over the forest below with hawk-like clarity.

"All is well, Aranethon?" Haldir asked, his voice the same mellow tone regardless of whether he was conversing with the Lord Celeborn or giving orders in a skirmish.

"Yes Marchwarden, I have seen only a herd of deer and a pair of squirrels since my post began at midday." Aranethon pointed with the tip of his bow, made from the heartwood of a mallorn. "There came some distant noise from the direction of the eastern gates of Moria not minutes past though. It seemed to my ears that there were goblins in the hills."

The distance from Lorien to Moria was such that no mortal could ever had heard these things, but the ears of elves are sharp. For a moment Haldir stood with his head cocked, listening for the echoes of goblin shrieks as well. Many seconds passed with only the light rustling of leaves and the calling of birds. Then, faint and shrill, the unmistakable sound of goblins came to them along the wind.

"It is daylight, and yet they go abroad?" Haldir frowned, clearly troubled.

Aranethon nodded. "Perhaps something may have drawn them forth from the dwarven halls?"

"I agree. Regardless of if they are friend or enemy, whoever stirred the goblins will likely be heading this way very soon. Signal the others and meet me at the western path."

Haldir was gone on swift feet, crossing a nearby bridge between flets with the ease and confidence of a squirrel. The Galadhrim lived in the arms of the mallorn trees from their very first days, and had no fear of heights. Even as Aranethon shimmied down a rope from the platform he thought nothing of the ground nor how far above it he was.

Less than ten minutes later they had reconvened, now as a party of ten Galadhrim warriors. Rúmil and Orophin spoke rapidly in the Sindarin dialect used by the folk of Lorien as they cautioned their fellows into silence. They needn't have though; the elves moved with near unnatural softness over the still-lush forest floor as they needed the borders of the forest.

When Haldir held up a hand to signal a halt, Aranethon was already picking out an ideal spot in which to conceal himself. True to form, the Marchwarden quickly had them disperse around the trail to hide in plain sight. Anyone entering the Golden Wood would likely do so on or near this main pathway, and so would soon be led straight into their hands.

Sure enough, the sound of muffled footfalls eventually came to Aranethon's pointed ears. A party was approaching, but it was certainly not a party of goblins. To the Galadhrim's surprise, the most varied and strange group of folk he had ever beheld before in his life came through the forest along the path. Two were obviously sons of Men, one in the lead and one bringing up the rear. Both were dark of hair and tall, but the one at the front carried himself like more of a woodsman and less of a soldier than the man at the back.

There was also an elf, golden-haired and dressed in the leafy green and brown hues of the Greenwood. The elf seemed at least partially aware that they were being watched, and was edging closer by the minute toward the leading human. They would have to move swiftly before their position was given away.

Most curious of all were the remaining five members of the party. To Aranethon's surprise and slight distaste there came a dwarf, trumping along over the delicate ferns along the trail with all the grace of a...well, a dwarf. The naugrim was currently speaking to one of four incredibly short folk whom Araenethon had once heard described as 'Periannath'.

"Well here's one dwarf she won't ensnare so easily. I have the eyes of a hawk and the ears of a fox!"

The dwarf's comment was almost amusing; by the time he had finished growling the words out Haldir had long since given the signal to move. The narrow but deadly sharp bodkin arrows of the Galadhrim were pointed at each and every one of the strangers before even the Greenwood elf could get his bow up. Aranethon stood stock-still with the bowstring taut in his fingers.

Stepping forward, Haldir said what most likely every last one of them was thinking.

"A dwarf breathes so loud we could have shot him in the dark."

Aranethon could have laughed aloud, but kept a carefully straight face. The Periannath (or Halfings, he had also heard them called) were looking up along the shafts of the arrows with expressions of both wonder and a little fear. The strangers were not goblins, and so truly had little worry of actually being turned into mimicries of hedgehogs. Still, they did not need to know that just yet.

As it turned out though, this rag-tag group of strangers was expected by the Lady Galadriel. It came as a surprise to Aranethon, but then again he was not privy to the business of the rulers of the Golden Wood. Haldir however seemed to know that something unusual was about with regards to this company. Their leader Aragorn even called the Marchwarden by name and asked for their protection. Clearly strange business was afoot, and Aranethon studied the group with interest as the Galadhrim escorted them into the very heart of Caras Galadhon itself.

Having never before met a dwarf, Aranethon was particularly fascinated with/repulsed by the sheer amount of hair the stumpy little creature boasted. He wondered just what it was about facial hair that the dwarves seemed to find so incredibly pride-worthy. When he took up his station at the entrance to the audience chamber of the Lord and Lady of Lorien, Aranethon couldn't help but look a little closer at the dwarf's ruddy-hued beard as he trundled past.

Finally the dwarf seemed to catch onto the fact that he was being observed. Turning his head briefly, the naugrim narrowed his beady eyes and glared.

"What're ye looking at, lassie?" he growled out before the tall human Haldir had called Aragorn hurried him along to the foot of the stairs.

Aranethon was thoroughly perplexed and more than a little insulted. Exchanging a look with Orophin, he whispered in Sindarin;

_"Lassie?"_

Orophin just shook his head before murmuring back _"Pay the dwarf no mind, Aranethon. I hear their own women grow beards just as they do."_

The very thought was enough to make Aranethon shudder, but he had to quickly straighten his shoulders and suppress the gesture when Haldir sent a warning glance at him and Orophin. One did not simply make jests in the presence of the Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn.


End file.
